About 3 months ago Robert and I came to an agreement. In trade for all of his travel I would be able to hire someone to mow the yard. Robert has always been adamant about doing the yard himself, and he is really good at it. However, with the amount of time that he's been gone, I've been forced to watch my nice, neat yard turn into a jungle. Even though Robert always promises to "get to it," I really started pushing the subject when a certain weed in the back started to tower over me and sing, "feed me, Seymour!" (you may ask why I didn't just do it myself...and my answer would be, "I don't do yards." Stubborn? Yes. Arrogant? Yes. Too good for the mower? Yes. Yes. Yes. Robert doesn't mop the floor or do laundry and I don't do yards.)
Robert finally conceded when the 2nd neighbor came over and asked if he could mow our yard for us. (sadly the first request didn't faze him.) We had obviously become the eye-sore of the neighborhood and so I got a very begrudging 'ok.'
As soon as the words left his lips, I set about finding a good, cheap lawn guy with the same obsessive-compulsive behavior that I approach most things. I researched on the net. I called people to come and do estimates. I compared services and prices. Finally I settled on a guy named C.J. He runs C.J. lawn services. (Ingenious...don't you think?) He looks like he's about 18, but I'm betting on mid-twenties. He is very, hmm...how can I put this. Hick. I knew he wasn't the brightest kid on the block, but he seemed very earnest and hardworking. And, as a bonus, I didn't have to pay him until AFTER he performed his services, so I wasn't worried about being gypped. (I'm a little jaded from our last landscaper nightmare, last year) With that in mind, I gave him our info and told him to come on back.
And he did. His guys did a wonderful job. Everything looked great. The menacing weed was taken down without any casualties. The grass was cut and trimmed. The leaves that had been decorating our deck for the entire last year were blown away. The neighbors started talking to us again. I was so pleased. The only thing I didn't get, however, was the contract. Or a bill, for that matter. So, I emailed and left my number with the message, 'thanks for a great job...email me the contract, so I can pay you.' C.J. wrote back that he'd get it to me.
Two weeks later, I still haven't head from him. But those nice workers came by and cleaned up my yard again. It all looked great, so I emailed him again. Nothing.
One day I got a call from good ol' southern C.J. (did I mention that his accent is so thick that it takes a lot of concentration and a little bit of guesswork to actually get what he is saying. Turns out he needs my information...email, phone number (I let that slide, even though he just called me...) and address (even though the guys keep finding our house...) So...I give it to him. And then...nothing.
About 3 weeks later, (we've had no rain...so they've spaced out their visits.) those friendly workers dropped on by and cleaned up my yard again. Getting a little frustrated, I email our friend again and say, "I want to pay you. You've come by three times now. Send me the contract and I'll get you the money." Can't be too much clearer than that. A few days later I get an email from C.J. He wants to know what my email address is. Seriously. He just wrote me... Really, I don't get it...but I send it to him. A few days later I get a response saying that he'll send the contract over with the guys when they come to do my yard again.
Yesterday they came. Can't say enough about these guys. Especially considering the fact that they are working for free. When they were cleaning up, one of the guys come up to my front door. Ahhh....great! Finally! We will finally have that contract in my little hands and I'll be able to write that check that I'm so dying to write.
Alas...there was no contract. Only a question. "could you write down your address so that C.J. can send you the contract?" Yeah...you read that right. Despite the fact that he just drove to my house. And despite the fact that he could have sneezed on those big copper numbers conspicuously staring down at him from my doorway...I went inside and wrote down my address. And my name. And my phone number. And my email address for good measure. I would have written down my blood type and social if I thought it would get me any closer to that contract. It was one of the most amazingly stupid things I've ever encountered.
Robert tells me that I shouldn't keep begging C.J. to pay him. Let him keep coming for free, he gleefully shouts. But that C.J. He sure is sweet and earnest. He really wants to provide a good service. I can't stop liking him. I just want to take him home and feed him.
Or at least offer to do his accounting.